


Domestic Bliss

by smidget25



Series: Family [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Family, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Mpreg, Parenthood, What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-22 12:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3729727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smidget25/pseuds/smidget25
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snapshots of Thorin, Thranduil and baby Legolas's time together as a family. </p><p>Sequel to Morning Sickness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> These are short one-shots (I can’t handle a fully-fledged WIP again) of Thorin, Thranduil and Legolas’ family time together, following the events of Morning Sickness. While you don’t need to read Morning Sickness to understand this, the background would make a lot more sense.

They undressed hurriedly, as they always did, never taking a moment of blessed silence for granted. 

Since they had first come together, that unforgettable night in Erebor, time together had been limited and because of it, all the more precious. They visited one another, as kings and lovers, as much as their councils deemed acceptable – but they had duties, and of course, Thranduil had a young son. 

As much as Thorin loved Legolas (who was by all accounts, a delightful elfing, who Thorin had quickly come to treasure) it meant that his time alone with Thranduil was almost non-existent. Every time they went to bed together – either in Thorin’s vast stone chambers in Erebor, or Thranduil’s underground cavern in Mirkwood – Legolas seemed to sense their intentions, as only a child could. When Thorin made to divest Thranduil of his elaborate robes, finding the smooth plains of Thranduil’s skin, Legolas would murmur, shift, and start to wail.

Thranduil, never one to be parted from his only son, or leave him in the arms of his attendants, would pull away, face lined with worry, and rock him against his chest, singing softly in elvish, until the babe calmed and returned to slumber. While it spread warmth in Thorin’s chest to see such a sight, there was only so much rejection he could handle; he missed Thranduil, after being parted with him for so long, and wanted nothing more than to get thoroughly reacquainted.

Thorin was sure Legolas did not do it on purpose - while growing, with distinct features and less of a hairless newborn, he was still a baby and had little understanding of Thorin’s plight. In the future he might understand. But until then, it seemed that Thorin would have to be benevolent (as Balin was always telling him) and rough it out.

Even know, in the peace of Thranduil’s chambers, after a particularly long ‘Welcome to Mirkwood!’ feast, Legolas was slumbering on the far side of the cavern, occasionally batting his legs and flailing his arms, as though taken by a strange dream. 

From where Thranduil was disrobing (his face creased with weariness but his eyes bright and eager, already flushed with arousal), he froze, denying Thorin a view of the now familiar long limbs, his fatherly instincts sensing Legolas’s unease. 

Thorin, used to this by now, patted Thranduil on the flank. “It’s ok, he’s sleeping.” 

Thranduil, undeterred, peered over Thorin’s shoulder at the babe, his voice tight with agitation: “He’s restless.” 

Thorin resisted the urge to roll his eyes, knowing it would not help his cause. Instead, in his rarely used patient tone, he said, “He’s a baby.” 

Thranduil calmed silently when Legolas remained motionless, and allowed Thorin to pull him back into a kiss. It was soft, a slow smacking of lips, and Thorin’s heart jumped in pleasure, his body singing its approval. 

He removed the remainder of Thranduil’s robes, and ran a reverent hand (which although rough with callouses, was always gentle) through Thranduil’s glossy hair, down the curve of an elegant back, and up the long arch of a leg. Thranduil hummed, stretching into the touches, his eyelashes fluttering. 

Thorin mouthed at his neck in worship, when there was a soft cry, and Legolas huffed, and Thorin’s heart dropped through the floor as the breathless cries ascended in fully bodied wails. 

Thranduil went rigid, his eyes blinking open in surprise, and uncoiled himself from Thorin’s arms. 

Between his kingly duties and caring almost single-handedly for Legolas (when Thorin wasn’t there, of course), Thorin knew Thranduil got little rest. Elves, it seemed, could go a long time without it, but Thranduil was unusually pale and overwrought with strain. Thorin wanted to do as much as he could to ease the burden. 

“It’s ok,” he said, patting Thanduil on a bare thigh, “I’ll get him.” 

Thranduil’s voice was low and cracked. “You don’t have to.” 

“I want to. I’m here now – I can help you.”

Thorin thought that Thranduil might deny he even needed help (stubborn as he was), but he must have been more tired than Thorin thought – he merely quirked his lips in thanks and watched with hooded eyes as Thorin took Legolas into his arms. Legolas was certainly bigger than he remembered, with glossy blond hair and curious blue eyes; he would not be a babe for much longer. 

With a wilful shrill, Legolas bounced slightly against Thorin’s chest, and grumbled, “Thron!” in greeting. Thorin assumed it was an attempt at his name. So far, that and ‘Ada’ were the only words he had perfected. The rest of his vocabulary seemed to consist of enthusiastic babble and flailing arms. 

Rolling his eyes at such a quick change in attitude, Thorin rocked him impatiently against his chest. Thranduil was watching them from the bed, lips curved into the softest smile Thorin had ever seen from him, looking utterly magnificent – bare, amongst his silky sheets. Thorin longed to join him, but Legolas was fully awake now, pulling at Thorin’s hair. 

“I’m going to walk him around the pool,” explained Thorin, hoping that it would send the babe back to slumber and calm his still racing heart.

If he hurried, with any luck Thranduil might still be in the same position when he came back. 

The cavern was huge, spanning many floors, carved into the earth and supported by the span of tree roots. There was one area dedicated solely to Thranduil’s wardrobe, and another, with a pool for Thranduil to bathe in. The water was calm and clear, and Thorin felt more relaxed just circling it, watching the lights of the candles dance across its surface. 

Legolas did not seem to be in agreement. “Thron!” he cried. 

“Yes, yes,” said Thorin tiredly. He kissed the babe on the head and spoke softly into his hair. “You’re going to be the death of me, little one. Are you not going to let me spend any time with your father?” 

“Thron!” Legolas said again. 

“If you could go back to sleep, I would be very grateful. I’m sure there are some jewels I can give you – just name it! Do you want the Arkenstone? Go back to sleep and it’s all yours. Balin might not agree, but we don’t have to tell him. It will be our little secret.” 

When Thorin looked down again, Legolas was fast asleep. He was sucking on Thorin’s brooch, lined with jewels, and refused to part from it when Thorin tried to tug it from his slobbering mouth. It was not the first piece of jewellery or clothing to fall victim to Legolas’s gums. Conceding defeat and noting the babe’s good taste, Thorin made his way back to Thranduil, almost bursting with relief. 

They could finish what they started, at last! 

Except when he arrived back at the bed, Thranduil, like Legolas, was asleep, and like Legolas, was curled into the sheets with his mouth slightly open. Thorin felt a strange surge of both affection and irritation, but could not bring himself to wake him. He needed rest.

It looked as though he would have to wait another night.

“I hate elves,” grumbled Thorin.

He hoped Legolas would not remember his promise about the Arkenstone. 


	2. Hair

Thranduil was sat in Thorin’s chambers, in front of his largest mirror, looking out of place amidst the vast stone and flickering candlelight. He was already dressed for the feast, in golden robes that shimmered with every movement, until he was practically aglow. He looked like an apparition – a mere figment of Thorin’s imagination – and (although he would never admit it aloud – Thranduil’s ego was big enough already) he could not stop staring at him. 

At least until little Legolas threw himself at Thorin’s boot with a shout of glee. “Thron!” he cried, tiny fists tugging at the end of Thorin’s new robes. 

The child was already dressed, in green rather than gold, already mussed and flushed with excitement. It would be his first feast and Thranduil was fearful of what mischief he could unleash. He was a disobedient child, in fact he was rather placid, but he was still a child and therefore prone to trouble. 

Thorin was not so worried. Dwarven feasts were chaos enough already and one more troublemaker was not going to make a difference. 

Regardless, now Thranduil and Thorin were formally courting, Thranduil was more conscious of making a good impression (although he would never admit it) and Thorin appreciated the effort. 

“Thorin,” said Thranduil, interrupting Thorin’s and Legolas’s game of hide and seek. He was fiddling with his long sweep of golden hair with a strange expression of frustration. For once, he was not attended by a flock of servants. “Do you wish to braid my hair?”

It was less of a question and more of an order, but Thorin found himself accepting nonetheless. Dwarves, by nature and necessity, did a lot of hair braiding, but he was touched that Thranduil would let him loose on his glossy mane. 

It was different to dwarven hair; whereas his hair was thick and coarse, Thranduil’s was soft and shining. It slipped through his fingers like silk. 

While he was plaiting, thoroughly absorbed, Legolas had crawled out from beneath the bed and was watching proceedings with interest. He bobbed at Thorin’s side, attempting to twist his tiny fingers into Thranduil’s hair. Thorin chuckled, and lifted him onto his lap so he could see properly. 

“Are you going to help?” he said gruffly. 

Legolas nodded with enthusiasm and tugged on his father’s long hair. Thranduil jerked, blinking slightly in surprise – used to the cool and calm touch of Thorin’s hands – but was unable to stop a smirk from tugging at his lips. Thorin noted that if it had been anyone else, Thranduil would have cut off their hands for pulling on his precious hair. 

“Like this,” scolded Thorin, guiding Legolas’s little fingers into Thranduil’s half-finished plait. Together they threaded each strand over one another – Legolas’s eager face rapt with attention. 

Once they were almost done, Thorin shuffled through Thranduil’s many trinkets: jewels (some of which Thorin had given him), brushes and ribbons, until he found coloured thread to weave through the plait. He chose gold, because it reminded him of Thranduil (hard, shining and precious), and held out a selection for Legolas.

“What colour do you think will look good on Ada?” he asked, meeting Thranduil’s eyes in the mirror. He was smiling in a way that only Legolas brought out in him. 

“That one!” said Legolas immediately, with barely a glance. He had seized a green thread and was proceeding to tangle it in Thranduil’s hair with great aplomb. It was messy but competent – using the tips Thorin had taught him. He was a quick study, clever like his father. 

Once he was finished, Thorin threaded through his colour, until Thranduil’s head was gleaming with golds and greens. 

“Maybe I won’t wear a circlet today,” he mused, giving an elegant twirl. As always, his hair swished like a curtain and Thorin caught glimpses of colour. 

“Beautiful,” he said, without thinking. Embarrassed, he added hastily, “If I do say so myself.”

"I think Legolas can take at least half the credit," said Thranduil, sweeping the squealing child into his arms. He ran a hand through Legolas's golden hair (far shorter than his own) and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Do you want Thorin to braid your hair, Legolas?" 

"Yes! Yes!" said Legolas eagerly. "Just like Ada!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of fluff going on in this fic, but there will be some angst and humour too! Comments are appreciated :)

**Author's Note:**

> If there's anything you want to see, let me know! Comments are welcomed :)


End file.
